The sound of a crow reverberates through the mist,
And a piercing sweet song, blackbird and robin.
It is the end of summer. The gatherer’s moon has gone.

Each moon like a follicle swells,
Ripens, and is shed of its load.
The waning moon, the corpus luteum,
Withers and dies.
Now is the moon dark:
A time for dreams and desires;
A time to gather in your energy
And look to the future.

The sun also ripens
And sheds its load of energy
Which we have garnered
In grain and fruit.

Now we will see the fading of the sun,
Losing warmth and power.
We foresee the sun cold;
The icy reign of the sky father
Cutting wind and frozen water
The fall of rain stones (hail)
The spattering of rain mud (sleet)
The many dusts and drifting falls of snow.